Tag: September 2018

Family secrets, black tie galas, and forbidden love in one epic standalone romance.

CARA

I’m an American girl, through and through, with a sentimental side. He’s a posh Englishman who only cares about the bottom line. He’s absolutely maddening, and if he weren’t the co-beneficiary of my grandfather’s English estate I’d have nothing to do with him. Trust me, he feels the same way about me. He’s stuffy and rigid, but undeniably handsome.

Playing house with Reid was not how I planned on spending my summer, but now that we’re stuck together under the same roof, I’m starting to see him in a whole new light.

REID

It’s been twenty years since Cara has stepped foot in England. Trevor and Anna must have been out of their minds to bequeath her half of the estate. Then again, she convinced me to spend the summer going through their house, so maybe I’m the one that’s truly lost it.

Staying in Somerset, away from my life in London, has nothing to do with how sexy she is. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. But I’d be lying if I claimed I’m only here for the money, because the longer it takes to settle the estate, the more I want this summer with Cara to last forever.

CARA

“Little ballerina,” my grandfather whispers, luring me awake. I can’t open my eyes, but I have a feeling I should. Suddenly, my window bursts open and a gust of wind and rain blows the sheet off my body. I spring out of bed, terrified. I dash out of the bedroom and toward the nearest light source, which comes from beneath Reid’s bedroom door. I knock frantically.

Loud stomping moves across the room, and he swings the door wide open. “My god, Cara. Are you all right?”

I can’t answer through the sobbing. I rush into the light, right past him and take deep breaths. Before I know it, he’s wrapping his arms around me and whispering, “What happened?” over and over again. His warmth comforts me as does his scent. He smells soapy and fresh. Alive.

“I think this place is haunted.”

“What makes you say that?”

I pull out of his arms and notice for the first time that he isn’t wearing a shirt, just pajama bottoms that hang loosely from his hips, like the first night we met. Much to my embarrassment, my eyes travel all the way down his well-sculpted torso, from his broad shoulders and firm pecs that have the perfect smattering of hair, over his defined abs, and down his happy trail. Yes, he has a trail of happiness, and I’m definitely staring at it.

Embarrassment replaces any remaining fear. It had to have been a dream. I’m starting to come out of it, and realize where I am and what’s happening. I also realize that I’m only wearing a t-shirt and panties. I try to roll with it, but I can’t help pull my hands out of his grasp and yank my t-shirt down over my thighs.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. He stands up and turns away, then clears his throat. I check out his back, which is as well sculpted as his chest. The first night we bumped into each is such a blur, so I’m a little surprised at how muscular he is, but I’m even more surprised at the tattoo he has on his shoulder. I did not notice that before. It’s an angular lion standing on its back legs and roaring with sharp claws. A monogram of K-L-G is weaved between flames around it, all in black. A tattoo doesn’t fit his personality in the slightest. How did that come to be?

Climbing off his big bed, I tell him, “It was just a dream, I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping,” he says as he slips on a t-shirt, much to my disappointment. “I was working.”

“This late?” I ask as I head toward his door.

He looks over his shoulder at me and nods, and then quite clearly flexes his jaw. Time to go. I’m sorry I interrupted his work and cried in front of him again. Will I ever stop crying in front of this guy?

“Goodnight, Reid,” I murmur.

“Cara, wait,” he says and takes a few steps toward me. His eyes meet mine before he puts his hand on my shoulder and runs it down my arm. Warm tingles glide up my spine. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I look away and shake my head. “Yeah, totally.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

“No,” I jump in, too embarrassed as it is. “I’ve got it.”

He takes a step back and studies me for a moment, before crossing his arms. “Goodnight, Cara,” he says as softly as he did in the dining room.

I turn to go, but still feel his eyes on me until I’m out of his sight. Back in my room, I turn on the light and shut the door. I crawl back into bed and pull the covers up to my ears.

My eyes wander from my ballerina painting over to the wall I share with Reid. I replay our moment over and over again, rubbing my hands together, trying to erase the feeling of his hands holding mine, but it’s impossible. I feel him, I smell him, and I see in my dreams all night long.

Ellie Malouff has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember. As an avid reader, she loves getting lost in books and decided one day to give a little back to the literary world with her own contribution. When she’s not writing, you can find her parked on the couch in Colorado with her husband, kids, and cats. She loves traveling to Ireland whenever she gets the chance.

Frankie Jensen works hard. She’s clawed her way up to become the car chief for the Cummings Racing pit crew, but none of that matters when her boss doesn’t even know her name. She refuses to let people take advantage of her. Quitting is her only option, but there was one thing she didn’t factor in.

Brooks Cummings always wins.

Whether it’s on the track or in life, Brooks knows what he wants, and he’s not afraid to fight for it. After a near miss with a wrench to the head, Brooks knows he should wash his hands of the rebellious car chief, but he can’t seem to let her go.

Racers strive for a holeshot on the track, but Brooks wants one when it comes to her. First over the finish line and first to Frankie’s heart.

Winter Travers is a devoted wife, mother, and aunt turned author who was born and raised in Wisconsin. After a brief stint in South Carolina following her heart to chase the man who is now her hubby, they retreated back up North to the changing seasons, and the place they now call home.

Winter spends her days writing happily ever afters, and her nights zipping around on her forklift at work. She also has an addiction to anything MC related, her dog Thunder, and Mexican food! (Tamales!)

Winter loves to stay connected with her readers. Don’t hesitate to reach out and contact her.

If football was a religion, then the stadium would be my church and the ball, my God.

My name is Scott Strauss.

Heisman winner and number one in the NFL draft.

I lived and breathed football until the only girl I’ve ever loved stomped on my heart and replaced me with a rugby star.

They say you don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s gone.

I realized it, boy did I, but it was too late.

Now she’s living her happily ever after and I’m here busy becoming king of the gridiron.

UNTIL one day, I’m knocked off my feet again.

But this time, I don’t know if I want to stand up.

There’s this woman who’s smart, carefree, and beautiful. Our personalities clash but the fire in her eyes matches mine.

Her name is Bridgette Cordello.

And she’s the only sister of the man my first love left me for.

*This is a standalone sports romance novel*

Anne Leigh is a 30-something-year-old who refuses to let the calendar dictate her age. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Biology and a Master’s degree in Nursing. She likes to write about strong women and equally strong guys who grapple with their emotions when faced with something as intangible as love.

She lives in Los Angeles with her husband. With her crazy schedule, she gets frustrated at L.A. traffic and needs an escape to keep her sanity, which her characters provide.

She did not think of publishing her stories and when she finally did, she’s truly appreciative of every, single person who found the time to let her characters become parts of their world.

She appreciates all the readers who leave kind comments/reviews on where they purchased the book because without them, all her stories would remain locked up in her computer.

But not even the brightest spotlight can reach the shadows of a broken soul.

Declan

Every wanna-be rocker dreams of the day when crazed fans will pack their shows. But the more people worship me as some kind of musical god, the more I realize why singers are called “performers.” I’m just a pretender. A fake.

I need something real. Something to break through the revolting glamour that’s bled into every part of my life. And for one perfect night, I found that in Sara.

Then she ran.

Sara

No sane woman would’ve ever walked away from Declan Hollis after only one night. But

walking away from him was the safest move for both of us.

I’ve spent so much time burying my old self in the past, trying to erase the vulnerable person I used to be. I’m smarter now—men are dangerous, and relationships are doubly so.

But the more time I spend away from him, the more I want to go back.

I may end up shattered all over again. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll be the one to help me pick up the pieces.

My bandmates and I grabbed a couple of burritos in the Mission District—cheap, delicious, and as gigantic as Pete claimed his dick was. A fun fact that ruined everybody’s appetite and no one believed. No one was willing to verify Pete’s claim either.

Somehow, our conversation maneuvered to the sad state of my love life. I’m fairly sure Trevor had guided us there, if for no other reason than to give me shit about how pathetic it was.

I sighed and pushed my food away, almost untouched. “If five years ago, anyone had said, ‘Hey, Dec. How would you like it if every woman you met wanted to sleep with you, just so she could tell her friends she’d banged the lead singer of a band?’ My response would’ve been: ‘Did you say something after ‘every woman I met wanted to sleep with me?’ And I wouldn’t have cared what the answer was. Now, knowing women are using me is just depressing.”

“Fuck that,” Trevor said. “I swear to the gods of music, if a woman wants to use me for sex, you sure as hell won’t hear me complaining about it.”

“That’s the difference between you and Declan,” Pete said, already smiling. “You said, ‘if a woman wants to use you.’ And that’s a pretty good-sized ‘if’.”

Everyone other than Trevor laughed. It made sense—he couldn’t see his own expression.

“Shit,” Pete continued. “No shame in it—none of us sees the amount of action Declan could.”

“If he weren’t such a pussy, you mean.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey!” I said it loud enough to know that they’d all heard me. So they were just pretending not to.

There was no way to explain it so they’d understand. Or not think I was insane. I’d guess that would be the natural reaction to a guy talking about how he feels like he’s two separate people—the one he’s always been and the one everyone expects him to be. It’s even sadder when the guy realizes that almost everyone he meets nowadays likes the fake him more than the real one.

Trevor would’ve gone cross-eyed if I told him that, until that night with Sara, sex just wasn’t as good as it had been before anyone knew who we were.

It was a conclusion I didn’t come to without a lot of rigorous testing, by the way. My folks didn’t raise a quitter.

But it became a little unpleasant when every time I fucked someone, I couldn’t get over the idea that it wasn’t really me who was getting laid. It was the guy I played onstage.

We might have looked the same, but every day he seemed more and more foreign to me. We didn’t wear the same clothes, use the same words, share the same values. I felt more like an actor now than a musician. Slipping into a role as I slipped into a costume that had been picked out and prepped by someone who’d barely ever spoken to me.

That was what made my one night with Sara stick with me. Not only was it physically amazing, Sara hadn’t met Declan Hollis, the lead singer of Self Defense who someone else had designed. She’d met Declan Hollis, the man who just wanted to be normal, get a house somewhere quiet where my dog didn’t have to run on concrete and shit on a four-by-four square of fake grass.

And she’d liked that Declan. She’d reminded me that he was enough, that he was attractive and could make someone laugh.

“Wait a sec. Does that shit really bother you?” Trevor asked. “Seriously? Fuck, that’s the only reason I’m here. If women didn’t want to use me to say they’d fucked a rockstar, I’d be sitting in front of a bonfire on the beach somewhere, drinking beer and playing somebody else’s tunes.”

“First of all, you’re not a rockstar.”

“Not yet. And luckily, these girls don’t think that far ahead.”

I grumbled but couldn’t disagree. “Secondly, you’d be playing someone else’s tunes? What the fuck is wrong with our tunes?”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, bro. The writing is flawless. It’s just not really my style.”

Again, I couldn’t disagree, at least with the second part. It wasn’t my style either. I’d stopped writing and doing what I wanted to a while ago.

Lauren Stewart grew up reading Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, James Clavell, Piers Anthony, and Agatha Christie, which explains why she can’t seem to stick to one genre at a time.

She got to the more romantic stuff pretty late, but paranormal romance was what changed her from an obsessed reader into an obsessed reader and writer. Her writing style comes from a mash-up of all her early favorites and her new ones, women like JR Ward, Karen Marie Moning, Alice Clayton, Emma Scott, and Janet Evanovich. Wow, how much would you pay to be invited to that dinner party?

Lauren wants to make people think, cry, and giggle, not necessarily all at the same time (although it’s great when it happens). In every one of her books, you’ll find elements of other genres – fantasy, mystery, romance, paranormal, suspense, YA, women’s literature, all with a touch of humor.

I’m a down to earth person until you make me mad, then it’s no hold barred. Especially when livelihoods are on the line. I have a meticulous plan in place, which means I shouldn’t be here, especially with her, but my conscience got the best of me.

I should walk away…

I should leave her the hell alone…

But I’ve never been known for following rules, and this woman—she’s hard to ignore and impossible to forget.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I promise your secret is safe with me.”

I tilt my head, intrigued at the way her face flushed with color. “Oh, do tell. What secret are you keeping for me?”

She glances around, ensuring no one is listening before she leans halfway across the table, cupping her hands around her mouth. “That you’re a member of a sex club.”

A vision of her cuffed to my bed pops in my head from hearing her innocently whisper the word ‘sex,’ like it’s forbidden.

I learned years ago to avoid women, at least outside of the bedroom. Sex is something no man wants to go without, but a relationship is a whole other story. And this woman, with her big innocent blue eyes, screams relationship material. Nonetheless, she’s captivated my attention.

“It’s nice to know I can trust you, but those who know me best wouldn’t be surprised by my membership to Stella.”

Her forehead puckers. “Then… Why did you bring me here?”

“Straight to the point. I like that quality in a person.” I purposely brush the edge of my hand against hers, itching to touch her in any way possible.

I never counted on meeting her but I was left with the urge to know she was okay, so I did what any normal person in my shoes would do and I watched her from afar, ensuring she was okay, reminding myself I’m not a total bastard. In addition to being beautiful, I discovered she fucking smiles at everyone. If Mary Poppins and Kate Upton had a baby, she would be it.

“You left the other night before I had the chance to talk to you.”

She pulls her hand off the table, her eyes darkening as she brushes her fingers through her long blonde hair. “You mean, you were disappointed when I didn’t wait on you to finish fucking another woman before you gave me the time of day?”

I hold back a smirk. “You’re jealous.” What an interesting turn of events.

Running into her at Stella—which was unplanned—she projected the perfect mix of sweet and sultry. Until then, I wasn’t entertaining the idea of talking to her, let alone fucking her. Now it’s all I can think of.

“N-nnno, I am not,” she sputters.

“Then it’s pointless to mention I returned to the main room only minutes later, with hopes of talking to you.”

Her nose turns up. “My ex couldn’t last long, but—”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “A friend of mine runs the club. He was out of town and asked me to stop in and check on things. The woman you saw was asking for assistance with an irritable member who was causing a problem.”

Her mouth forms a perfect O while she nods.

“I don’t necessarily believe in fate, Ms. Charles, but the fact that we were leaving Thornton at precisely the same time is a consequence I find hard to ignore.” Like Saturday night, seeing her today wasn’t planned.

She nervously taps her fingernails in a rhythm on the table, watching me but not saying a word.

“I think we would have ended up leaving Stella together, if given the chance, and that’s exactly what I want.” What I need.

“That’s a very presumptuous statement.”

“I like to think of myself as confident, not arrogant.”

“I’m not sure you know the difference.”

Her feisty behavior makes me eager to hear her moaning my name.

“Tell me, without lying, that I’m wrong, that you didn’t imagine the two of us fucking like animals, and I’ll get up and leave. You’ll never hear from me again.”

Her eyes widen while she crosses and uncrosses her legs, but what she doesn’t do is tell me to get lost.

“I want to feast on every inch of your delicious body.”

She noticeably swallows. Her eyes dance around the restaurant then back to mine.

“You can lie and tell me you don’t want this but you’re only depriving yourself of a night we both desperately want.” I reach across the table, cupping my hand over hers. “One night. Allow yourself one night where someone else does all the thinking for you.”

I love the high I get from being with a woman, the way I can lose myself in the pure physical act two people share, but I’m only fooling myself if I believe one night will be enough. But for now, it’ll have to do.

“I thought one-night stands happened after you’ve had too much to drink, not something people premeditate during the middle of the day at a taco shop?”

I stifle a laugh. “Sex can mean many things to different people, but when both parties are clear and upfront, the possibilities can be endless.” I arch a brow. “The beauty of making a decision is it’s yours to own.”

Her big doe eyes fix on mine. I can see the questions dancing through her mind and I’m a lucky bastard she hasn’t already run out of here like the place is on fire.

“What are the rules? Would we meet somewhere? Because meeting at my place isn’t ideal.” I make a mental note to figure out why she wouldn’t want to take me to her place but for now, I bask in fact that she’s considering my offer.

“I’ll send a car for you at five when you get off work.” I jump to my feet, ready to get hell out of here before she changes her mind, not that she’s exactly agreed. “A black Lincoln will be out front. My driver’s name is Tim, and he’ll be watching for you. Oh, and Delanie…” I place my hand under her chin, tilting her head back. “Plan on staying the night.” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip.

Tonight can’t get here fast enough.

“I have to go but I promised you lunch. I’ll order something on my way out.”

She waves my comment off. “Oh, no you don’t have to do that.” She looks at the time on her phone. “You really have to go right now? Maybe we should talk more about this.”

And that’s exactly why I need to leave.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

I could be making the biggest mistake of my life, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that karma’s a bitch because something tells me, one way or the other… This woman was meant to be in my life.

For Wall McCormack, actions speak louder than words. He’s giving and protective, loyal to his friends, and devoted to his job. While confident and powerful enough to conquer any challenge, his greatest strength lies in his calm nature. Until an unexpected assignment sends his world into a loud and colorful chaos he never could have anticipated.

Rejection. It’s something Dylan Vaughn has known his entire life. But he’s a tough nut to crack and refuses to break. Armed with a sharp tongue and brutal honesty, he pushes through life and at anyone who attempts to take him on. Except for the quiet guardian who piques his interest and dares him to want…more.

When Dylan’s past comes back with a vengeance and jeopardizes their growing connection, Wall will stop at nothing to protect the younger man and remain by his side. But convincing Dylan that someone accepts the real man behind the cocky facade might prove to be Wall’s greatest challenge yet.

With his freedom on the line, Dylan must trust the strength of their bond and confront the forces threatening their future. Only then will he realize the dream of acceptance is real and finally have a place to call home.

“You have other skills.”

“I doubt being bratty and having a smart mouth are next on the list of desired skills.”

“Why do you consider those two of your most glowing qualities?”

Dylan looked up. “Huh?”

“You mention them after your computer skills. So they are the traits you associate with yourself the most. Why is that?”

“Um…” Is that a trick question? “Because I have a smart mouth and most people say I’m bratty.” He should add snark and sarcasm as additional languages. Maybe that would beef up his resume.

“I’m not arguing that point,” Matt said with a ghost of a smile. “But it’s obvious you do it with a bit of…spite. So I’m wondering if it’s truly part of your nature or if you do it only because people expect you to.”

Dylan shrugged, not really liking the serious shift in the conversation. He didn’t know how to do this emotional chitchat crap, and Matt was in a sensitive state of mind after everything that had happened. He returned his attention to the book and flicked the edge of the pages against his fingertip, trying to busy himself.

“You’re not alone, Dylan.”

Dylan slammed his book shut. “Try telling that to all the nonexistent people standing around me.” He bit back his usual defensiveness. He saw something flash in Matt’s expression, but couldn’t peg exactly what it was. But he guessed Matt wanted to be his savior. Maybe it was his nature, and Dylan was probably wrong considering his track record with people, but he couldn’t help the feeling tugging at the back of his mind that this determination stemmed from what had happened to the other guys. “You didn’t fail, Matt.”

“What?”

“With the guys. The knife in the room. That wasn’t your failure. It was their choice.”

Matt frowned and ducked his head. He set his glass of lemonade on the ground beside the bench and clasped his hands together, taking a deep breath. “I could have guided them better.” Matt winced, probably realizing he had voiced that thought. “Robbie was at his father’s house for the weekend. Neil told the police that Robbie had mentioned his father would hit him when drunk. The knife was for protection. I should have—”

“Stop it,” Dylan said, with a little more force than he had intended. “How were you supposed to know something Neil told the police after the fact? Robbie didn’t share it with you, he shared it with Neil, and unless you’re a psychic, how the hell were you supposed to know that was happening?” Dylan shook his head. His people-meter might suck, but his logic-detector was fully functional. “You’re just like Sam. Not everyone wants to be saved. That’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s part of life.”

Matt cocked his head. “Is that your story?”

“I don’t need saving.”

“No, you don’t. You’re obviously resilient as hell.” Matt turned on the bench seat to face him. “But don’t plan your future because of things in your past. Learn from them and consider them life lessons.”

“You should listen to your own wisdom. Don’t beat yourself up because the guys screwed up. That’s on them, not you. Consider it…a life lesson,” Dylan finished with a flourish of his hand and a raised eyebrow. “You offer more help than most, and if people don’t want to take it, then it’s on them.”

“Touché,” Matt said with a shake of his head and a hint of a smile.

“See? Told ya. I’m bratty with a smart mouth. Top of the list of my marketable skills. Tons of companies are going to beat down your door to hire me.”

Jaime Reese is the alter ego of an artist who loves the creative process of writing, just not about herself. Fiction is far more interesting. She has a weakness for broken, misunderstood heroes and feels everyone deserves a chance at love and life. An avid fan of a happy ending, she believes those endings acquired with a little difficulty are more cherished.

In the wake of death and betrayal, Vala flees the island of Garlin with Xavyn in search of the truth about her identity.

To find the answers they seek, they must first cross The Divide—a mass of cloud and fog that has separated human lands from the rest of the world for hundreds of years. As they pass through what is meant to kill all others, a surge of magic emerges, bringing death to some and more power to others. In turn, The Divide is weakened, the fog dissolving enough to reveal what lies beyond, reigniting thoughts of war between sides.

But the imminent collapse of The Divide isn’t the only thing concerning Vala and Xavyn. They discover what Vala needs the most is also what the Islain queen had been searching for—a feather. Not only could it help prevent war, it could restore Vala’s immortality despite all she has forgotten. Though there are others also searching, waiting for magic to return, prepared to risk it all for the same immortal goal.

“This is an incredible universe that JM Miller has created – so many aspects and little details that many people wouldn’t even think of. … Also, can I just say DRAGON. I’ll just leave that right there, not gonna say anymore. You just need to go grab these two books and read them. RIGHT NOW. Enjoy, you won’t be sorry.” – A Page to Turn

“I really like that Xavyn is kinda to-die-for, while Vala is even more badass than she was – and there is one last book, I can’t wait to see what else will happen!” – That Transylvanian Book Chick

“I knew after Fallen Flame, this was going to be an outstanding series, and I was definitely right about that!” – Stalking Shelves

J.M. Miller currently consumes her coffee in Florida. When she isn’t distracted by social media sites, she writes Young Adult and New Adult novels that vary in genre.

Aside from spending time with her family, she loves to travel and will jump at the chance to go anywhere, whenever life allows.